


Masquerade

by Destinyawakened



Category: Batman (Movies - Nolan)
Genre: Alternate Personality, Alternate Universe, Canon Divergent, M/M, PTSD, Set after TDK
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-27
Updated: 2018-07-06
Packaged: 2019-02-22 17:36:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13171875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Destinyawakened/pseuds/Destinyawakened
Summary: Bruce has inner struggles with a deed he committed while saving the life of Jim Gordon's daughter.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was written in 2009. I'll be updating it on here periodically. It's 15 chapters. Enjoy.

It never seemed to matter how often Batman tore him down, the Joker just kept coming back. Arkham never seemed to be able to hold him for long; a few months tops before the mad man found some means of escape. It was a terrible game of chase, and Jim Gordon knew the Joker lived to have Batman be the one to go after him. This night was different; this night was the last straw for the vigilante and Gordon could honestly say he couldn't blame him. After three years of the same game, running it's cycle and distracting Batman from the criminals he could have been dealing with – it was time for drastic measures.

“He can't go to Arkham,” Batman rasped, throwing the handcuffed Joker onto the chair in the interrogation room of Major Crimes. Joker was beaten to bloody mess, his usual clown make-up smeared nearly off, leaving the hollows of his eyes a daunting shade of gray. Gordon placed his hands on his hips and shut the door behind them. Thank God no one else was here tonight.

“Can't leave him here. And you know he'll escape jail downtown in just days. What would you have me do with him?” Gordon asked, a little annoyed. They've had this conversation at least five times, and Gordon usually always got his way with sending the Joker to Arkham. This time, however, Batman didn't look ready to stand down; he was going to get his way. The only obvious answer left was the one Gordon knew that Batman was thinking. The island prison was not a place where the criminally insane were taken. There were men in that prison who would gladly kill the Joker if given the chance. Maybe that wouldn't be such a bad thing. Still, Blackgate.... Gordon wasn't sure.

But what Choice did they have? This game had to end sometime.

Batman's gaze hardened as he held it on the Joker, the clown was smiling menacingly back at Batman, his teeth stained red with the blood dripping from his lips.

“Blackgate.”

\-----

Once a year, and not typically on Halloween, Mayor Anthony Garcia held a masquerade ball at the Mayor's Mansion. This year however, the Mayor had called Bruce Wayne to City Hall to ask him the favor of throwing the ball at the newly built Wayne Manor. Bruce was notorious for his classy parties and willingness to entertain. There was no doubt that this year's ball would be far more exciting than the stuffy balls thrown by the mayor.

Which was why Bruce was standing over a table in the middle of newly built ballroom at Wayne Manor. He was looking over the more strenuous parts of throwing a party – invitations and the guest list. Usually it was fairly easy to tell who would actually come, but this year there were so many newly elected officials in Gotham that Bruce had to look the list over three times while cross-referencing each person to find out who they were. Then there was the list of the top socialites of Gotham; the ones that boozed their way through all the top parties in hopes of schmoozing their way to the further top with people like Bruce. The billionaire wished he could just not invite those people, but to uphold his reputation and keep his facade in place, certain extremes had to be taken.

“Perhaps if we just invite everyone on the list and stop trying to sort them, we'll be much more successful in completing this task on schedule,” Alfred stated as he leaned over Bruce's shoulder to peer at the guest list that had yet been written. Bruce glanced over at the older gentleman and smirked knowingly.

“There is a limit to how many we can fit in this ballroom, Alfred. We didn't exactly accommodate for more space when it was rebuilt,” Bruce said with a hint of sarcasm. Alfred took the list from him, glancing it over.

“Well, you definitely want to invite the board members of Wayne Enterprises, the new elected council members for the city, and of course the District Attorney and the Assistant District Attorney. I'd say just about everyone at City Hall would be ideal.” Alfred put the paper back down, checking off the names of those he'd just mentioned. His fingers stopped at the next name and he looked to Bruce with some hesitation.

Bruce shook his head. “Jim Gordon never attends. He doesn't even return the response form. If that isn't a clear enough answer that he doesn't give a damn, I don't know what is.” Bruce explained with some annoyance. He had been trying for some time now to find reasons to talk to Jim Gordon, but the man just had other things going on and it never worked to Bruce's advantage. He had hoped to be able to befriend the man as Bruce Wayne; another _real_ friend aside from Alfred. But all his attempts had gone unnoticed by the commissioner and Bruce was starting to see that maybe it wasn't worth it after all.

“May I just point out, sir, that with every other party the Commissioner was married. Perhaps his wife was not able to attend with him,” Alfred hinted, and Bruce caught on. Recently, Gordon and his wife had divorced, and the man now had a lot more “free” time than he had before. Bruce grinned at Alfred, and the butler checked off Jim Gordon's name on the list.

“Do you think he'll come?” Bruce asked. He wasn't going to take back the invite, he was merely curious what the older man thought of present situation.

Alfred finished marking the names off of everyone they would invite and folded the list in a neat square, fitting it into his jacket pocket. “I don't see why not, Master Wayne.”

\------

Living single, coming home late at night to an empty house and flicking the lights on to see half the furniture gone, pictures on the walls missing... It was all just too much to get used to far too soon. It had been a few months, but Jim Gordon still hadn't come to grips with the reality that his wife – ex-wife – was never coming home to _their_ house and he would be seeing a lot less of Babs and Jimmy.

Gordon walked through the front door of the living room and bent to pick up the mail sprawled out on the floor in front of the door. He shuffled through them, kicking the door shut behind him. Mostly bills, a few flyers for new restaurants opening, and one shiny black envelope addressed to Commissioner James Gordon with return address of Wayne Manor in the Palisades. Gordon threw the other mail onto the table and flicked the light switch on. He tore open the envelope and took out the white invite inside. The Mayor was throwing his yearly masquerade ball with the help of Bruce Wayne it seemed, and Jim Gordon was lucky enough to be invited. Again..

He threw the invitation down on the table. At least this year he wouldn't have to make an excuse, he had one made for him. Babs and Jimmy were coming to stay the same weekend as the ball, and there was no way he was tagging a pre-teen and a full blown teenager to a party hosted by none other than Bruce Wayne. There was likely to be large amounts of alcohol and enough elite chatter to make his head spin. He took out the response form and looked it over. He had never sent these back before, why would he start now?

He shut the light off again and trudged slowly to his bedroom, not bothering with any of the lights. He walked into his room, taking off his tie, emptying his pocket on the dresser by the door, and kicking his shoes somewhere towards the closet. Another night at home, by himself. What better way to spend it, then to sleep.

\-----

Barbara dropped Babs and Jimmy off Friday evening at the house. She left in a hurry, saying she had things to take care of and that she would be back to pick them up Sunday evening. Babs was shuffling about the kitchen, cleaning up the dishes Gordon hadn't gotten had time to put away. Jimmy flopped down on the couch and turned on the television. Gordon stood between the living room and the kitchen, hands on his hips, and looking between both kids.

“So, what are we going to do this weekend?” he asked them. They usually had things planned to make the most of their time together, but he could tell the kids were getting sick of going out to eat and watching movies. Jimmy let out an annoyed sigh, but didn't even look up. Babs shrugged as she cleared the mail off the table, sifting through the junk and the bills. The pile had been there for a while.

“We could...” Babs had started to say, thinking. Jimmy popped his head over the side of the couch and looked at Gordon pleadingly.

“Can I stay the night at Danny's tomorrow? We have a school project due next week and Mom's been so overprotective about letting me get together with people after school,” Jimmy explained, and how could Gordon really say no to that? Barbara was over-doing it a little, and had been since the Harvey Dent incident. Gordon would have loved to spend time with his son, but it was obvious there were more important things Jimmy needed to take care of.

“Alright. I'll drop you off tomorrow night and then Babs and I will do something together,” Gordon said, and Babs immediately brought her attention back up Gordon from the mail in her hands. They never got too many Father-Daughter dates, it was always with Jimmy and sometimes Babs liked to have some time with just her father. This could work out for both his kids.

Babs smiled as she picked up a black envelope from the stack and looked it over curiously. “What is this?”

“Another one of those invites to one of Mister Wayne's parties,” Gordon grumbled. He eyed Babs as she began to open it, pulling out the invite and the respond card. She held up the last piece and glared at her father pointedly.

“One usually sends these back, whether they are going or not, Dad.” Babs scolded teasingly, a smile still playing on her lips. “Why don't you want to go? Masquerade could be fun.”

Gordon shrugged, running a hand through his hair. “One: the thought of going by myself seemed ludicrous. Two: it's tomorrow evening and if you haven't noticed this is my weekend with my two favorite children.”

Babs rolled her eyes. “First,” she started mocking. “We're your only two children. And Second: Jimmy won't be here now and you should go and bring me as your date!”

Gordon narrowed his eyes at her and she smiled sweetly at him, batting her big blue eyes. God, he really should be able to tell his daughter no now and then. “I don't know, sweetie...”

Babs dropped the smiled, sticking her bottom lip out in a big pout. “Please? I've always wanted to go to one of Mister Wayne's parties! And it's masquerade, too! It's going to be gorgeous, Dad! Please, please, pleaaasssee!” she had her hands clasped in front of her, begging. Gordon slumped his shoulder's and gestured for her to hand him the invite.

“Let me see if I can call Wayne Manor and get a hold of someone to let them know we're we'll be coming after all,” He said, taking the papers from Babs and pulling out his cell phone. “Why don't you go online and see if you can find a few costume shops that are open tomorrow that still have rentals for masquerade available.”

Babs jumped up and down a few times and then skipped around the table, hugging Gordon tightly around the waist for a few seconds and then kissing him on the cheek. “Thank you, Daddy!” She said as she ran to the back of the house towards the office. Gordon was dialing information when he caught Jimmy's gaze.

“I can't believe you're taking her,” Jimmy said, flatly. “It's all she's going to talk about now for weeks. Why you gotta ruin my life, dad? Why?”

Gordon sighed. “It's not the end of the world, son. Just be happy she doesn't have a boyfriend, then you'd really never hear the end of it.”

Jimmy groaned, slapping his palm against his forehead. “Don't jinx it, Dad..”

\-----

They dropped of Jimmy that evening around five. Babs was seated in the passenger seat wearing an elaborate, emerald green ball gown dating around eighteenth century. The lady at the costume shop matched him up with her in black tux with long coat tails and top hat. He was told this was typical of the time and that all he needed to complete it was a mask. They bought two of those. Babs' was half-faced gold mask with a beautiful green and purple diamond design painted on. Gordon opted for some a little more subtle and went with a half-faced velvet green with gold trimming. He _did_ feel quite ridiculous, but from the look on Babs' face and how excited she was, he knew it would be well worth the effort and humility.

They arrived at the driveway of Wayne Manor and a young man was out front directing cars, to where they were met by another young man who asked for the keys so they could park the car for them. Wayne really did go all out; but this just wasn't the masquerade the Mayor threw ever year, this was the house warming of the newly built Wayne Manor. He handed the keys over and then helped Babs out of the car. She placed her mask on and then fitted Gordon with his own, fixing his tie and adjusting his hat while she s wellt.

“You look really handsome, Dad.” She whispered, and he offered his arm to her and she looped her own through his. They walked towards the crowd of people who were gathering at the front of Wayne Manor, some talking before going in while others made their way through the front door. Gordon lead Babs up the steps and through the door, where Wayne's Butler was greeting each guest, checking off names on a list. Gordon stopped and the gentleman looked over the list, smiling at them.

“Ah, Commissioner Gordon and Miss Gordon,” the man said, and gestured for them to enter the ball room. Gordon wanted to ask how the the butler knew who they were in the masks, but figured he'd be holding up the line the people behind them.

Babs grasped a little tighter onto Gordon's arm, and he could practically feel the excitement radiating off of her. They entered the ballroom slowly, the lights cascading dimly around the room, creating a hue of gold white lights. Decorations had been simple – it seemed – and were nothing more than gold and silver ribbons draped like streamers across the eaves of the ceiling. Candles were sitting on large wall sconces, lit to make a more dramatic effect throughout. Gordon was impressed and Babs seemed a bit taken back, as she had stopped walking and was gaping at the beauty of it all.

“It's just so gorgeous,” she said under her breath. Gordon glanced her over with a sigh. She was standing in the middle of a ballroom, dressed almost as a princess, her blond ringlets of hair cascading down her shoulders. Gordon felt overwhelmed by just how much his daughter was growing up – how much she had grown up.

“It should be,” came a suave male voice from behind them. Babs and Gordon turned at the same time to see Bruce Wayne standing there, dressed in a slightly more expensive looking suit than Gordon's, and his mask was drawn up on the top of his head. From what Gordon could tell it was plain white mask. He honestly thought Wayne would have gone a little more extreme. “I only hire the best.”

Babs was awestruck, Gordon could tell by the way he was standing as still as she possibly could, and holding her breath. Gordon took her arm to ease her. “Mister Wayne, I'd like you to meet my daughter, Barbara.”

Wayne held out his hand for Babs to take, and slowly she placed her hand in his. Wayne wrapped his fingers around hers and brought them to his lips and kissed them softly, while bowing with the other hand behind his back. Gordon wanted to roll his eyes at the show; several people were staring now. Wayne straightened and let go of Babs' hand and she smiled at him.

“I'm really glad you were able to make it, Commissioner. After I didn't receive your response card, I thought for sure another party would go by that you didn't make an appearance. And yet, here you are.” Wayne said, a smile creeping along his face that looked almost forced, or maybe weak, Gordon wasn't sure. It looked like Wayne had had to smile most of the evening so far and it was only an hour in. Gordon began to wonder if the billionaire actually liked throwing these parties.

“Something came up but there was a change of plans,” Gordon explained, shrugging. “And once Babs found out, I'd never live it down if I didn't take her.” He smiled at his daughter, who was starting to ease up.

“Well, I'm glad she convinced you to come,” Wayne said with a smile that seemed much more genuine this time. “If you'll excuse me, I have to play 'host' and greet the rest of the guests.” Bruce pushed past Gordon, touching his shoulder with his hand as he went.

Babs let out a soft sigh of relief. “He's so much more handsome in real life.”

“He's also a good twenty years older than you,” Gordon pointed out and Babs shot him a knowing look. “What? I just don't want you getting any ideas.”

\-----

There was a live orchestra playing the whole night and everyone danced in the middle of the ballroom, the swirl of dresses and eccentric jester costumes causing a rainbow of colors to flash across the pearl white floor. Gordon must have danced with Babs eight times already, passing her off to a young man who had taken a keen interest in her. Gordon didn't mind one bit, she was young after all and he had brought her to have a little fun.

Wayne made his way through the crowd, one hand in his pocket. Gordon looked Bruce over, as if to ask why the billionaire was even bothering with him. Wayne was one of the city's nuances, a little plague that happened to return to Gotham three years ago, bringing with him parties, boozing, women and general public disturbances as he constantly pushed the envelope. Maybe the younger man did it for kicks, maybe he did for a reaction. Whatever 'it' was, Gordon didn't really care to know.

“You didn't really want to come, did you?” Wayne asked, sipping on a what looked to be a flue of champagne, but Gordon was close enough that he could tell that it wasn't really, the color was slightly different.

“No,” Gordon replied shortly. “Costumes, drinking, generally having to be nice to people I don't even know... It's not really what I do best, Mister Wayne.”

“Your daughter seems to be having a good time though,” Wayne pointed as as Babs passed by them in twirl with the young man. She smiled at Gordon, a genuinely happy smile.

“I'm just glad she found a new dance partner. My feet are killing me,” Gordon said, showing off the shiny black dress shoes that were obviously not meant for hours and hours of dancing and standing. Wayne chuckled.

“Mine aren't any better. Apparently money can't always buy comfort,” Wayne placed his glass down on the table behind him. “I was about to go put my feet up for a few, you're welcome to join me.”

Gordon let his eyes lead back to Babs as he thought about how painful his soles were. “I'm not...”

“She'll be fine. Alfred's at the door and there are a few dozen bodyguards I can alert to stay on the look out of her if she tries to leave with anyone,” Wayne explained with a reassuring tone. He placed a hand on Gordon's shoulder and started to lead him from the dance floor..

“Alright,” Gordon said as he felt himself being moved as it was. Wayne gestured to the opposite side of the room, and continued to lead Gordon. Wayne opened the door and allowed Gordon to enter first. The Mayor was in there with his wife, they, too, had their shoes off, grimacing.

Wayne toed off his shoes, resting back into one of the arm chairs. Gordon took the chair next to his, leaning on his knees with his elbows. He tipped his head at Wayne a little. “Do you find these parties boring?”

“Uhm...” Wayne set his lips to a thin line, thinking. He leaned forward towards Gordon and whispered. “To be honest, yes.”

“Then why –” Gordon started to say but he was interrupted by the sound of screaming from the ballroom. Gordon got to his feet, taking the few steps towards the door, aware that Wayne was on his feet quickly and behind by only paces. Gordon opened the door just slightly to see out, his thoughts going straight to Babs. He hoped she had learned enough from the last incident to just stay down.

He went to open the door wider when a man with a clown mask pushed him back into the room, making way for another man and a woman wearing a red and black jester's mask with matching costume. The second man entered holding a hostage at gun point. Wayne had his hands on Gordon's shoulder's, whether it was to try to calm him or to just keep him down, he wasn't sure. That was until he finally got a good look at their hostage.

_Babs_.

“This little doll tells us that the Commish is in here,” the woman said as she scanned the room. “So which one of ya is he?” A few more henchmen entered the room, a total of about six now. Gordon stammered to his feet and raised his hands in front of him in defense.

“Me,” he said sternly. The woman smiled, pulling a gun from behind her back.

“Great. You call Blackgate and tell them to let Mister J go and we'll let go of pudding puff here,” The woman said, motioning to Babs, who had her arms twisted behind her back and three guns trained on her. Gordon became very aware as to who he was dealing with now; these people were the Joker's henchmen and 'girlfriend', Harley Quinn.

“I don't have the authority to do that,” Gordon said quietly. “The Joker has gone through a trial on several occasions and...”

“You put him in there! You suggested Blackgate! You can get him out!” Quinn screamed, shoving her gun into Gordon's chest. Gordon kept his hands where Quinn could see them, looking down at the barrel of the gun momentarily and then back up at the woman. He had to steady himself, get his emotions under control – for Babs, if nothing else.

“It's not that simple. I can't just make a phone a call... there's paperwork...” Gordon sighed as Quinn glared at him with her piercing blue eyes. “Please, don't hurt my daughter...” Gordon heard Wayne behind him grunt at the comment. It was a bad move, Gordon knew. Quinn hadn't known that the girl was Babs.

Quinn smiled. “Oh. You're daughter?” She marched over Babs and tore off the mask. “Yeah, I see the resemblance. Too bad there won't be much of one left when we blow her face off.”

Gordon felt the anxiety of the events of years ago coming over him again. How did he let this happen, again. His own daughter, who was sobbing gently under the strain of the man holding her captive. Gordon looked at her and her eyes pleaded desperately for him to do something. But what could he do, there were six men, all with guns and one crazy woman. Gordon hadn't brought his gun with him and he was _sure_ that Wayne didn't carry one.

There was a shift in air around Gordon and he looked out of the corner of his eye at Wayne, who had one of the gravest looks Gordon had ever seen the younger man have since the night his parents died. This must have been all too familiar for him as well.

“Please, I'm sure I can work something out. It's not going to be done over the phone. I have to call –” Gordon said, trying to reason, but reason didn't seem to be getting him anywhere right now.

“That isn't good enough,” Quinn said and she motioned at the henchman holding Babs back and he pulled back the hammer of the gun and went to squeeze the trigger. Gordon knew he wasn't going to be fast enough and before he could even think about moving his feet, he heard Babs scream and a gunshot. What he saw was not his daughter in a bloody mess. Rather, he saw the man rumpled on the floor with a knife sticking out of his throat and blood gushing from the wound. No point in anyone attempting to say that one. Gordon's first thought was where the hell did the knife come from, but his second went to where all the other eyes were and that was on Wayne.

The billionaire didn't take a second more than was needed though, and he took everyone's shock – including the other henchmens' – to his own advantage. Wayne began throwing punches at the first henchman, knocking his gun out of his hands, bring his foot around to kick the gun of the second henchmen out of his hands, and then Wayne landed, ducking a blow from another man. He then took the head of the first henchman and twist it quickly with one rather loud crack, breaking his neck. Wayne turned to the second, throwing his fist up into that man's jaw sending him reeling backwards, and then Wayne brought his elbow back sharply into the groin of the man who tried to sneak up on him. Three down. Three to go.

Gordon held his hand out for Babs, who crawled over to him as fast as she could, getting out of the way. They sat huddled up together, Gordon's comforting her as he watched Wayne kick a fourth man into a bookshelf and breaking the jaw of a fifth. Wayne took the last man by the collar and punched his face five times and then threw him to the ground. Wayne's chest was puffing, and he had a look on his face that Gordon could only remember seeing from one other person. This was quite a surprise. And Exactly what just happened?

Wayne stood, knuckles bloody from the beating he'd just given the last man. He stalked towards Quinn, a steady and dangerous gaze in his eyes. Quinn dropped her gun quickly, raising her dainty hands into the air in surrender. She smiled weakly.

There was the sound of sirens and then the door was busted down a few second later. The police cuffed Quinn and the four men who were knocked out. The other two, Gordon knew, were dead. Wayne had fallen to his knees when the police arrived, holding his head in his hands, smearing blood across his handsome features. Gordon was still not very sure what happened, or if there was any explanation that would make any sense about now. What he was thinking was at the tip of his tongue and it felt too dangerous to actually say. Babs was talking to Stephens and Montoya about what happened, and so far no one wanted to approach Wayne. Maybe they were waiting on the commissioner to step forward.

Gordon stepped beside Wayne, squatting down next to him and placing a hand on his shoulder. “That was quite impressive.”

Wayne sighed dropped his hands to his sides, and looked at Gordon as though the world had completely ended. “I killed two men, Jim. _I killed them._ ” At the mere mention of Gordon's first name, he knew the answer to everything. Bruce Wayne was Batman. It was obvious and he had risked his secret to save Babs, because there was nothing anyone else could have done.

“You didn't have a choice. They would have killed my daughter if you hadn't stopped them,” Gordon reassured the younger man, but Wayne seemed so distant and distracted that he didn't seem to care too much.

“I could have done it without killing them. I could have... I know...” Wayne's voice started to get smaller, weaker. Delusion was definitely going to set in. Batman had rules, and the biggest was not to kill. That rule, made a lot of sense now. Wayne – Batman – didn't kill because then he was no better than the man who killed his parents. Gordon was seeing now that Bruce wouldn't come out of this easily.

“It's okay, son. No one blames you. Everyone here is bound to thank you.” Gordon wasn't sure what else to say, he had never been good with wordy sentiments and comforting. Wayne dug his palms into his eye sockets and let out a growl of frustration.

“Do you think they know?” Wayne asked softly after a few moments passed. 'They', Gordon knew, meaning the mayor and his wife, and possibly every other policeman and detective in the room.

“Well, there aren't too many people in the city who can do what you did just did. And if you add that up with the financial backing, it makes sense. I'd say a few would have figured it out.” Gordon wanted to lie about it, because he knew that it wasn't what Wayne wanted to hear. Too bad the truth was easier to say.

“What does this mean for me?” Wayne looked over at Gordon, weary and worn down. Emotionally the whole thing had taken a toll on Wayne, and it was obvious by the way his eyes seemed to so lifeless now. The situation could be resolved by talking to everyone in the room about keeping it quiet, if they knew at all. It wouldn't promise anything. It was one more obstacle for Bruce Wayne to overcome.

“It means coming clean about the night Dent died. It means clearing your name – well Batman's name. And that you are as you always have been. A Hero.”


	2. Chapter 2

Things didn't really go as planned. Gordon had assumed that after taking Joker's henchmen and Harley Quinn into custody, that taking Bruce Wayne in for questioning on the whole thing would be easy and he would be set free within the day. It was just a bit unfortunate that Mayor Garcia had other arrangements in mind for Wayne. There was a the mention of his recklessness in the city, destroying property, endangerment of others, and most of all being in on the conspiracy to cover up a crime scene. There was a bigger list, but Gordon honestly wasn't listening after the list hit ten. It was ridiculous that they would be keeping Wayne in a holding cell at all. The man sacrificed his life for for a cause that most people never felt they needed to give to without some reward.

Wayne was a hero and he shouldn't have been sitting slumped, hands on either side of his head, looking at the ground. Gordon stared at the younger man behind the bars and felt every piece of him start to fall apart. He was reminded so much of the day that Wayne's parents died, how lost and alone that boy looked, a vacant and scared look in his eyes. Except now, Wayne didn't seem scared for what might happen to him, he seemed more scared for his own stability and sanity. Killing two men was not something that was done lightly or without consequence, whether by one's own conscience or by law.

There was no way Gordon was going to allow Wayne to be charged for murder. Gordon would deal with all of Garcia's other claims that Wayne had done, but murder was not one of them. It had either been the henchmen or Babs. Wayne had the right choice, anyone would have made the right choice. Gordon was thankful Wayne was there at all, if he hadn't been... Gordon didn't want to think of the outcome.

Babs was sitting in her father's office at MCU, still scared to death. She hadn't had a relapse from the Dent fiasco – thank God – but she was still shaking and sobbing. Her costume was splattered with blood from the man that had held her captive, her hair a ratted mess and her make-up smeared across her eyes from crying. How was he going to explain this to Barbara? It was bad enough that he sheltered Jimmy and Babs from a lot of extra circular activities, but this would really send her over the edge and Gordon was sure his one a month weekends were going to be limited to once every two months, if he was lucky.

He thought about just not telling his ex-wife, but something slipping out later concerning the incident would only make matters worse and the consequences even more dire. Lying was out of the question.

“You should call you're mother and let her know you're alright. I'm sure she's heard about it on the news already,” Gordon said softly to his daughter. He didn't want to leave her, there was probably a lot going through her head about now and confusion looked to be one of them. Gordon wasn't sure if he his daughter had placed the facts together about Bruce yet, but it would only be a matter of time once she calmed completely down.

Babs nodded slowly, grabbing the phone and dialing the number slowly. Gordon walked out of his office and cracked the door so she could have some privacy. He expected that he would either be called back in a few minutes later or his cell phone would start to ring. He really didn't have time to deal with Barbara _and_ the issue with Bruce Wayne. Gordon thought about passing the case off to Gerard Stephens, but the thought of leaving Batman in the hands onfanyone else seemed ludicrous. Batman trusted Gordon and no one else. That's why he had chosen Gordon over four years ago – that's why Gordon was the only one to know the truth.

Gordon walked over to the holding cell, leaning his right arm against the bars. He fiddled with his cell phone as he awaited the call from his ex. Wayne stirred, lifting his head from his hands. His eyes were still vacant and placid, and so much darker than Gordon could ever remember seeing them. There was some obvious torment tearing the younger man apart and there was nothing Gordon could do about it.

“I'll get you out of here. One way or another,” Gordon said, taking a deep breath as he finished. Wayne squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head slowly.

“I don't think you get it, Gordon,” Wayne started to say, his voice was deep but it wasn't quite the rasp Gordon expected of Batman. “I killed two men. I _know_ I could have found another way to stopping them before they shot your daughter. I panicked because it all happened so quickly. I didn't see another choice in that split second before they pulled the trigger. But there were other choices and I failed to see them. I _failed_.”

“Bruce, you did nothing wrong,” Gordon whispered, trying to console the billionaire the best he could. “You aren't even in here for that, anyway.”

“It doesn't matter what i'm here for. I belong in here,” Wayne growled, his voice deepening more. He glared up at Gordon. “Killers don't belong on the street. I'm no better than the rest of them!”

“You aren't a killer! You did what had to be done! Cops do this everyday; we never have a clear choice when someone is threatening someone else. We shoot if we have to. Sometimes that person doesn't live.” Gordon was trying to reason with Wayne, but there was a rage that was building in the younger man and Gordon was starting to see that maybe this conversation wasn't going to end well.

Wayne stood and ran at the bars where Gordon was standing, there face's just inches apart now. Wayne grabbed the collar of Gordon jacket and pulled him into the bars. “But I'm not a cop, Gordon! I had no right to take the law into my own hands, ever!” Wayne swallowed and let go of Gordon's jacket, the commissioner didn't mind, he understood that there was some underlying issues here. Wayne pressed his head into the bars. “This is what I deserve.”

Gordon felt immensely sorry for Wayne. The weight of the world on his shoulder, taken on by himself, to rid Gotham of everything he thought were the reasons his parents were murdered. And now he was assuming he was just as bad as men like Joe Chill. Except Wayne wasn't. Wayne was better than that; he had a vision and when Gotham was corrupt there was only one way out of it. Wayne took matters into his own hands. Gordon admired him for it, and others would too, once they knew the full truth about the night Dent died.

“Bruce,” Gordon started, his hands fumbling to put his phone away. Gordon reached between the bars of the cell and placed a hand on either side of Wayne's face. The younger man raised his head slightly, forehead still to the bars, and looked Gordon in the eye. _Those eyes_ , Gordon thought, _why had I never payed more attention_. He heard Wayne's shallow breathing hitch; more than a few moments had passed and everything was far too still around them. Gordon felt an odd twinge in his chest, just below his heart. He instinctively pressed his own forehead into the bars where Wayne's was, keeping their eye contact. “You _don't_ deserve this.”

\-----

Whatever moment Bruce shared with Gordon had passed when the commissioner's cell phone rang. Gordon left abruptly, leaving Bruce pushed up against the holding cell bars, wishing he still had the human contact. Every inch of him felt cold and desolate. He had impulsively killed two men. There were no excuses for that and Gordon really should known better. Gordon should have thrown Bruce into Blackgate with the Joker, because they were both killers and both deserved to die there.

Bruce could be happy watching the Joker wither away and die as he did the same in his own cell. It would be the one justice Bruce would want most.

Taking a seat back on the cold, stone slab, Bruce brought his legs up to his chest and rested his forehead into his knees. Time seemed to have slowed since he was brought here, and crept by even more so when Gordon was near. Bruce wasn't sure exactly why that was. Gordon was Batman's friend – a man he could trust and call on. But what was Gordon to Bruce Wayne? Hardly a friend, hardly... anything.

And yet Bruce felt that the those few moments where nothing else came between them – where no words were spoken and they could just be – had more meaning and emotion behind them than he would have ever thought possible. Maybe Gordon knowing Batman's true identity had opened another side of the commissioner. Maybe Gordon felt Batman didn't really feel much, and therefor they never talked about it. There was an underlying tension, some sort of understanding a few minutes ago and Bruce found himself wishing that it hadn't ended.

If anything could keep him from falling deeper into the abyss he felt closing in around him, it would be Jim Gordon. Bruce wasn't sure why that was, but it didn't feel wrong to think about.

The sound of a door opening and closing made Bruce look up again. Gordon was stuffing his cell phone into his pocket and was guiding his daughter towards the back entrance of the building. Gordon looked back at Bruce one last time before he disappeared around down the dark hallway. What would happen now? Would Bruce stay here until some decision was made or would they allow him to make bail? Not that he wanted to, he couldn't imagine being out on the street right now; not with the media everywhere. No one knew about Bruce, but the fiasco at the party had started some uproars and the press was crowded outside MCU begging to know what happened.

It was only a matter of time until the truth came out. Bruce expected it and even accepted the fact that even if he didn't go to jail that his night time ventures would come to and end. What was the point now? The imagery of a giant bat beating someone senseless was frightening, but the image of Bruce Wayne dressed up as a giant bat beating someone senseless just didn't have the same affect.

Bruce felt his head buzz with anxiety. Everything he worked hard for was gone. Everything he mentally prepared himself to contend with failed. He killed two men. _But those two men were about to kill Gordon's daughter_ , Bruce thought to himself. He was trying to justify himself, to let go of the fact that the two men rightly deserved it. But did they? No one deserved to die at the hands of another person.

His parents didn't deserve to die that night either. It wasn't fair. And all Bruce could think about was if those two men – no matter how corrupt or evil – had families and children to go home to. Did Bruce just take two father's from their children? Bruce could imagine the children crying for their fathers, and his heart began to break all over again. Even if it wasn't true, just the fact that those men could have been _anyone_ else made a pit in Bruce's stomach.

Bruce wasn't sure if he was slowly going insane or not, but he was sure he was having a mental breakdown. How could something he usually dealt with everyday dig straight into his heart and tear him to pieces. He was stronger than this. _So you killed two men, Bruce. What are you going to do now? Cry about it? Wish more that it hadn't happened? Maybe this happened for a reason Bruce. Maybe this is who you are..._ What _you are._

Bruce squeezed his eyes shut and began to rhythm of beating his head into his knees. Why would he even be thinking that? Was he thinking that? He could tell he wasn't stable, that the events of the evening triggered these thoughts and emotions. He could work past them, couldn't he? They weren't real. _They aren't real... Get a grip Bruce. Just don't think about it!_ He would work past this, wouldn't he?

Why was this happening? He was stronger than this and he wasn't delusional.

So why did it feel like everything had fallen down around him?

\-----

Gordon had picked up Jimmy from his friends house on the way back to the apartment, told the kids to pack up their over night bags and change. His conversation with Barbara had not gone well, just as he expected. She demanded that they be brought back to her house immediately. Could Gordon blame his ex-wife? No. And at this point he really wanted Babs to feel safe and if that meant being as far away from Gotham as possible, he would do that.

So he drove them home, gave them each a hug good-bye and attempted a conversation with Barbara, but she slammed the door in his face. At least it had gone better than he expected. He drove back to Gotham, to MCU. He was greeted at the back entrance (to avoid the media) by Stephens, who had concern written in the crease of his forehead.

“Jim, I think we have a bigger issue than we thought,” Stephen's said quietly as they walked by a few lower ranking detectives. Gordon raised an eyebrow at him. “I don't think Mister Wayne is... well.”

“Well?” Gordon asked, as if he didn't understand, but as they rounded the corner to the holding cells, he knew exactly what Stephen's meant. Wayne was lying flat on the floor, staring up at the ceiling, unblinking. “How long has he been like that?”

“At least an hour now. We didn't want to go in there, afraid he'd try something,” Stephen's explained. “You should have seen him a few hours ago. He was holding his hands to his ears and sort of.. rocking. And then he stopped and got kind of violent. He kept muttering something and started to punch the walls. It didn't last long.”

Gordon stared at Wayne behind the bars and sighed. Even from where he was Gordon could see that the younger man had at least one broken finger on his right hand, possibly a few sprained on the other. Gordon pinched the bridge of his nose. He knew why no one here stopped him, everyone knew what he was capable of now and no one wanted to get in the way. Stephen's put a hand on Gordon's shoulder.

“And Garcia is in your office.”

_Wonderful_ , Gordon thought, _just wonderful_. Gordon gave Stephen's a nod. “Watch him.” And Gordon walked to his office, opening the door to see a very stone faced Garcia glaring at him from the opposite chair. “Mayor,” Gordon greeted with a nod.

“Look, Jim. You need to explain a few things. I'm all willing to give Mister Wayne a pardon for killing two men, because it was self defense. But knowing now what I do, I can't help but wonder if you always knew who Batman really was.”

Gordon shook his head. “I was just as surprised. It does make sense now, but I was just as ignorant to the facts as anyone else.”

“Alright. And the issue with Dent, you mentioned briefly that it was never Batman that had killed those five people three years ago. That I was Dent all along?” Garcia questioned. The mayor kept his expression neutral.

“That's right. Batman insisted on taking the fall for everything. He knew that the people of Gotham needed Dent; he was a beacon of hope that there were good people willing to do good things without running around in a costume.” Gordon hated explaining that day. Every time the memories had almost faded, someone brought it up again, refreshing the whole experience.

Garcia stared at Gordon for a moment. “Okay. Pardoned from that, too. If it gets out to the public that Wayne is Batman, we'll have to think of something to tell the citizens. I'll also be willing to offer a pardon to all the other charges Batman has racked up over the year if Mister Wayne agrees to help the city or repay the city for any of the damages he's caused.”

“Mayor,” Gordon started to say as he took a seat, leaning his forearms on the desk. “Mister Wayne has given nothing but money to rebuilding of the city every time something was destroyed during Batman's escapades. He gave the biggest donation to Gotham General, and that one didn't even have anything to do with him.”

Garcia narrowed his eyes. “There has to be a consequence, Jim. If not more donations, then it's going to be that he gives up being Batman all together.” Gordon froze at those words, because he knew the city needed Batman more than anything, but if word did get out about Wayne being Batman, it wouldn't be the same. He'd have to talk it over with Wayne, see what he wanted to do. Then again, Wayne hardly seemed stable enough for a conversation of this sort.

\-----

Finally, Garcia left. Gordon walked out of his office and to the holding cells. Wayne was in the same position as when he first saw him just an hour earlier. Gordon strolled up to the bars of the cell, but even then Wayne didn't flinch. Gordon placed his hand in his pocket and felt around for his keys. He thought about it, unlocking the cell and going in there. Why bother, he'd just be letting Wayne out as soon as someone came to get him.

Gordon felt a pang of worry creep into his chest. Maybe they all underestimated the impact the situation had on Wayne. Batman beat criminals every night, but Batman didn't kill people. It wasn't just unethical for him, it was against his personal code. Even when the Joker was at large – when Batman could have easily killed the mad man – he kept it. Maybe it wasn't just about the code. Maybe it was more than just the fact his parents were killed. Maybe there was just something else there, the reasons why Wayne was having so much trouble coping.

It was then Gordon realized he didn't even know Wayne all that well. He knew Batman about as well as Batman would have allowed, and he knew even less about Wayne. Maybe there was a larger affect from the billionaire's parents' death than anyone knew. Maybe after it happened there were years of holding it in, trying to get over it. Maybe all it took was just one reaction to an action; one slip up, a minor infliction...

“I'm not well, Gordon,” Wayne said quietly, breaking Gordon from his thoughts. Gordon looked at him again, but the other man was still staring at the ceiling.

“You're fine, Bruce,” Gordon insisted, but he knew it was a lie. Even Wayne could see that he was slipping under a wave that was about to wash him out to a dark sea. “Garcia said you can go whenever you want.”

Finally, Wayne looked at Gordon and blinked. “You and I both know that isn't a good idea.”

“I don't have a choice. I can't keep you here any longer. I have nothing to detain you with,” Gordon said with a shrug. “Is there someone I can call to pick you up?”

Wayne swallowed and closed his eyes. “Yes. Alfred.”


	3. Chapter 3

Gordon waited outside back behind of MCU, leaned against the wall and smoking a much needed cigarette. He had called Wayne's butler, Alfred, to come pick him up. Wayne was still being hesitant on leaving, insisting that it was all a terrible idea and Gordon might regret it if he actually allowed Wayne to leave. Gordon didn't have a choice; there was no keeping an otherwise innocent man behinds bars without someone raising a few questions. Neither he nor Wayne needed that right now.

A sleek black Rolls Royce pulled up in front of Gordon. An older gentleman slipping out the driver's side, and shutting the door neatly behind him. He straightened his suit and approached Gordon, hands folded in front of him. He gave one of those soft, knowing smiles that put Gordon at ease.

“Commissioner,” Alfred greeted and Gordon tossed the butt of his cigarette to the ground and snubbed it out with the toe of his shoe. He wiped his hands on his jacket and then offered a hand to Alfred, who took in a firm shake. “I'm pleased to hear that Master Wayne had received pardons on all accounts.”

Gordon shrugged, pulling the back door opened and motioning Alfred inside. “Can't really convict a man who's done more good for the city than the police department and SWAT combined.”

“No, I suppose not,” Alfred said quietly, hands clasped together behind his back as he walked through the door, Gordon stepping up beside him. Half way down the hall to the holding cells Gordon stopped and put a hand on Alfred's shoulder to slow him.

“You should probably know that he's not at his best,” Gordon explained. Alfred furrowed his eyebrows at the commissioner. “He didn't even want to go home. He wanted to stay here.”

Alfred didn't seemed phased by Gordon's comment. “Master Wayne has always blamed himself for his parents' death. Though he has not said a word about it in the since his return four years ago, I assume he still does. Many therapy sessions later, he still was not quite the same since that night.” Alfred paused and gave Gordon a thoughtful, but wary grin. “I did think he was doing so well. Shame he's letting this unfortunate incident consume him.” Alfred started to walk again.

Gordon couldn't help but wonder exactly why Wayne blamed himself for his parents' death; what else could have happened that night that made him assume it was his fault? It did explain why he was taking this worse than he should have. An unstable relapse, memories the billionaire probably didn't even think about anymore, suddenly flooding back to him in a just few split second decisions. Gordon let out a sigh and began to follow after Alfred.

They rounded the corner to the holding cells and Wayne was leaning up against the bars with both arms dangling between. He was glaring at the two of them, and Gordon could tell that the younger man was not happy with him. Gordon knew he'd be even more unhappy with him when Gordon told him about Garcia's decisions. That could wait, maybe Wayne needed sometime to recoup before something of that nature was placed on his shoulders.

Gordon reached into his pocket and pulled out the ring of keys and unlocked the cell door. He opened it, taking a deep breath in hopes that Wayne wasn't going to attempt anything. Gordon didn't think he would, but just from the violent actions earlier, he wouldn't put it past him.

“Come on them, sir,” Alfred said softly with a nod of his head in the direction of the hall leading back out of the building. Wayne didn't move at first, his gaze set directly on Gordon, a little softer this time, as if he was silently begging the commissioner to do something. Gordon lowered his eyes, staring at his feet. He watched Alfred's shoes step across into the cell and then Wayne's shiny black one's followed him out again. Gordon glanced back up. Alfred had one arm around Wayne's shoulder's and was saying something softly to him, but the younger man didn't seem to be listening. He looked back once more at Gordon, stuffed his hands in his pockets and turned his head back, allowing Alfred to lead him out.

Gordon didn't want to think about what Wayne had said earlier, about not being well. Gordon had seen a lot of insane and mentally unstable people during his time as Commissioner, far too many to count on one hand, and the other was getting full, too. He didn't honestly want to think that Bruce Wayne – Batman – would be counted as one of them. Wayne would get over it, right? Alfred seemed to have handled the billionaire the first time he broke down when his parents died, so maybe Alfred could do it again this time.

Who was Gordon kidding? Last time Wayne was a child, tragedies like that hit home harder than for others. Wayne was an adult now. He memories, regrets and remorse sneaking in between the lines of the shame he already had for what he'd done that evening. Maybe Gordon was too quick to judge, too quick to make a decision. He could have held Wayne another day at most, watched over him at least to be sure he _was_ going to be fine.

He let out a heavy sigh and took off his glasses, leaning back against the cell bars. Why was he suddenly questioning his own actions? There was a part of Gordon that was starting to believe that Wayne wasn't well and letting him out might have been a huge mistake. Gordon didn't think that the younger man would do anything drastic like run around as Batman and take out his misgivings on criminals. No, Gordon was more afraid for the self inflicted, mentally unaware things that might happen.

“Shit,” Gordon cursed to himself. He had to talk to Wayne anyway about the conversation with Garcia, perhaps he could make a house call later and check up him.

\------

Bruce stared out the window of the backseat of the Rolls Royce, elbow plant on the arm rest, chin resting in his hand. He hadn't said one word to Alfred, he didn't feel like explaining anything that Gordon might have told him. Alfred didn't ask, didn't say word. Bruce couldn't tell if the other gentleman was upset with him or worried. Bruce had never killed anyone before, not out right and purposefully. Was Alfred disappointed? _Of course he is, why wouldn't he be Bruce? You killed two men and deprived their families of them. Alfred probably hates you right now, but won't tell you. Just look at him. You know he does_.

The voice again. Bruce hated it, how it contradicted everything he wanted to believe was the truth and turned it around to something he knew deep down wasn't true. So why was he believing it? Why couldn't Bruce just block it out and ignore it – knowing the voice was lying. But the voice was his, what he heard in his own mind when he thought, so maybe it was real? Maybe what he was saying to himself – thinking to himself – was the truth. Bruce glared over at Alfred. The butler had a bit of a frown on his face as his eyes flicked towards Bruce in the rear-view mirror. Bruce scowled.

_I don't think he hates me. But he obviously can't be trusted_. This time Bruce found he was believing it fully, every word that slipped into his thoughts brought on a rage-filled energy that was slowly beating down the grief and sorrow. _No,_ Bruce thought, _No I will not think like that. That is Alfred. Alfred is my partner, my friend... guardian._ Bruce felt stupid, arguing with himself. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, trying to wipe the negative thoughts from his mind.

“Are you alright, Master Wayne?” Alfred asked sincerely from the driver's seat. Bruce swallowed hard, andrested his head back against the leather seat.

“Fine,” he muttered. Alfred didn't respond, and really why would he? Bruce was putting up a guard, trying to keep people out and away. Yes, that was why Alfred was acting so cold, it was Bruce's fault. _It's always your fault, Bruce. It's your fault Dent died. It's your fault Rachel is dead. It's your fault the Joker went as far as he did. It's your fault Ducard poisoned the city. It's your fault you killed two men. All. Your. Fault._

That brought a lot to perspective. Exactly what had Bruce hoped to achieve as Batman? Put a few criminals in jail, clean up a city that obviously didn't want the help? Achieve justice for his parents' murders? He'd never really have the last one, he'd never know what it felt like to see Joe Chill die the same death as his parents, by Bruce's own hands. Someone had gotten there first and if they hadn't Bruce would have been allowed the few moments it took for Chill's eyes to register who it was that had killed him. _You could have done it Bruce, you could have been that killer. You could have always been a killer. Because that's just what you are now anyway. A killer._

 _No,_ Bruce thought, _No I'm not. I'm not a killer. I am not the Joker. I am not Henry Ducard. I am not Harvey Dent. I am Bruce Wayne. I am. I'm..._

“Master Wayne?” Alfred asked softly. Bruce opened his eyes, looking up into the gentle eyes of Alfred, who had opened his door. At some point they had come to a stop, the green grounds of Wayne Manor could be seen behind Alfred. Bruce vaguely remembered Alfred mentioning they were home, it seemed to distant and far, but he knew it had only been minutes ago.

Alfred held out his hand and Bruce took it, taking whatever help the older gentleman was offering. _So mixed up, aren't you Bruce. You want to trust the old man, but you can't decide if maybe he's just pretending. He's so ashamed of you for killing two men, he doesn't_ really _want to look at you. But it's his obligation. You can tell he's disgusted by you._ Bruce squeezed his eyes shut again, almost painfully, letting go of Alfred's hand and bringing both his hands to his ears. He hoped it would block out the voice, as if it were in the air and not his head.

A pair of hands were on Bruce's shoulder's trying to guide him towards Wayne Manor's front door. Bruce couldn't really feel his own legs, but he knew he was walking. The voice kept going, taunting. _Why not just give in to it, why not just realize that this is who you are now? You can complain and mope about having killed two men and depriving their families of someone, but who really cares? One way or another someone would have killed them. They knew that in their line of work. People are thanking you for it. You're getting away with_ murder. _Mayor what-his-face even pardoned you. Why are you fretting, Bruce? Why?_

“STOP TALKING TO ME!” Bruce finally yelled out, unaware he had actually screamed it out loud, his voice weaker than he intended, but stronger than would have thought it might have been. Alfred jumped backwards, startled. Bruce went down to his knees on the stone slab just in front of the front door. He brought his head to his knees, hands clasped around the back of his head. He wanted to so bad to cry, that maybe if he let out whatever emotional issues was causing this two sided conversation in mind would just go away. But that was exactly what the other voice wanted. Drop the shield and let in the anguish and hate, the side of Bruce he thought he had been able to tame after all those year training with Ra's al Ghul. Rage had to be controlled, it was what Batman was for, to release the rage and help while doing it.

Bruce felt Alfred place a hand on his shoulder. “Master Bruce,” he said softly. Bruce let out a quivering sigh, turning his head to look at Alfred.

“I killed two men, Alfred. I killed them. They could have had families. I could have brought them down without killing them... I know it.” Bruce paused, running his hands back through his hair as he sat up. “I felt so useless. And now I feel so helpless and regretful. And yet there is his part of me that keeps nagging at me, telling me that I am just a killer. And I believe it.” There was another pause where Bruce wasn't sure if he should say it. “I'm... not well, Alfred.”

“You'll be just fine, sir. You're just conflicted with emotions and stress. I think after a good sleep you'll be back to normal.” Alfred stood, helping Bruce to his feet. “I know this has been hard on you and that you never wanted to kill anyone. It was that or a young girl died in their place while you watched. I don't think I need to tell you which would have tormented you more.”

Bruce knew that Alfred was right; Gordon's daughter being killed while he stood around trying to contemplate his next move would have eaten at him worse than now. So why was the nagging feeling in the back of his mind still there? Why did he feel like he was slowly losing his mind?

“Come on, Master Bruce, let's get you to bed.”

As long as Bruce kept in control of the thoughts and knew which were lies and which were his own, then he knew he might make it past whatever it was bringing him into this state. It was bad enough he had all this guilt for what he had done, knowing that he could have done something else, done _better_. He didn't need anyone or anything justifying his actions. What he did was wrong. Plain wrong. He failed himself. He failed his parents.

\-----

Gordon stood out front of Wayne Manor, hand ready on the knocker when the door opened swiftly and Alfred stood there with a pleasant smile on his face in greeting. Gordon tried his best to keep the surprise off his face, but he knew that it was a bit late for that. Alfred grinned a little wider.

“We have security cameras, sir. I figured before you spent more time practicing what you were going to say for another five minutes, I would just come relieve you and invite you in.” Alfred held the door open so Gordon could pass through. Gordon, still a dumbstruck, shuffled inside. “May I take your jacket, sir?”

“Um, what? Oh, yes. Of course. Thanks,” Gordon said as he fumbled for the words, shimmying out of his jacket, allowing Alfred to take it. He wasn't usually so thrown off, but he had been in the midsts of his thoughts when Alfred startled him. “Is Bruce around? There were a few things I needed to discuss with him the other day and it just didn't feel like the right time then.”

“Master Wayne is...” Alfred sighed, as if debating with himself if he should tell Gordon or not. “I suppose it doesn't matter anymore. Follow me, sir.” Alfred motioned for the hallway, the soft click of his shoes hitting the marble floor as he went. Gordon started after him, passing a couple rooms until they reached one that looked like a study of some sort. They entered and Alfred key a few keys on a piano and door from the wall opened. Alfred motioned Gordon to follow. They walked down a few steps and then took an elevator down. Gordon held onto the wiry sides of the lift.

“Is this...?” He looked at Alfred in question, and the older gentleman gave one short, curt nod. Batman's hideout. Gordon looked around as they came to a stop, realizing it was a cave. A Batcave. Alfred handed Gordon a flashlight.

“Around the corner a bit,” Alfred said as he motioned to the slight curve in the cave. Gordon took the light.

“Where are you going?” Gordon questioned, he didn't know if he should be happy or scared that Alfred was leaving him down here with Wayne.

“I have things to attend to, sir. And I dare say that Master Wayne hasn't been too happy with me the last couple of days. Minor conflicts in opinions.” Alfred gave a wary smile and turned to leave back to Wayne Manor. Gordon turned the flashlight on and continued to walk around the corner, the light fixing on a few large computers, some tables, the newest built Tumbler and then finally sitting in a chair was Bruce Wayne. Gordon turned the flashlight off, there was enough lights on in the cave to see without it now.

“How'd you get down here?” Wayne asked gruffly, not moving. He was shrouded in shadow, the lights playing across only a few of his features. Gordon set the flashlight down on one of the tables and walked a little closer to Bruce.

“Alfred,” he said simply, stopping when he was a few feet from Wayne.

“What do you want?” Wayne asked again, his tone growing a little annoyed. Gordon stuck his hands in his pockets, looking down at his feet, scuffing the toe of his shoes into the dirt.

“To talk. There were a few important matters we need to discuss concerning Garcia,” Gordon said and then he looked up to see that Wayne had confusion etched into the lines of his forehead. “And to see how you were holding up.”

Wayne's facial expression dropped, leaving him completely emotionless. “I see. What are these matters we need to discuss?”

“Garcia gave the pardons under one condition. He thinks there needs to be some kind of consequence for your vigilantism. He left me with a few choices to present you with. One is that you donate more money to repair the city where Batman had caused damage. And the other choice is that you give up being Batman completely.” Gordon waited for the shock from Wayne for him to demand that there be another choice, but he stayed completed fixated on Gordon's movements as the older man shifted on his feet nervously. “In my personal opinion, I don't know how you're going to be able to be Batman if the truth leaks out of the Police Department.”

Wayne slumped back, fingers drumming on the arms of the chair softly. “I can't be Batman anymore, Gordon. And it doesn't really matter, either. What I stood for is lost. And when people do find out – like you said – it won't be the same. You can tell Garcia he'll get both options.”

“You don't have to donate more money, Bruce. You've done more than enough to make up for everything,” Gordon said. He didn't feel that Wayne should have to pay more when he gave constantly. Bruce shook his head.

“It's just money, Gordon. Why the hell do I give a damn about money?” Wayne asked. Gordon knew it was rhetorical, and kept his comments to himself. Wayne closed his eyes and for a few minutes there was nothing but silence between them. Gordon wasn't sure if he should go or stay. He did say he came to check up on Wayne, so maybe he should start acting like it.

“Has being home helped any?” Gordon asked softly, watching as Wayne opened his eyes again and stared him down with a glare that gave more than the answer Gordon was expecting.

“No,” Wayne started, pushing himself from the chair, allowing himself to be bathed in the dim glow of the lights set around the cave. He looked terrible, as if he hadn't slept in days. He wore a pair of loose sweat pants and a dingy black t-shirt. He obviously hadn't looked in a mirror lately. “It's worse here. All I have to do is walk past that room by the ballroom and I relive every single fucking moment.” Wayne started to stalk towards Gordon slowly, each step he took looked long and regal, panther-like. “I can see the look on your daughter's face, the way that the gun pointed to her head shone in the lamplight. The scared rasp of your breath, and the moments in between where I couldn't think or speak.” Wayne was just inches from Gordon now; so close he could feel Wayne's breath on his face and see the madness swirling in his eyes. “Everything, Gordon. Right down to the moment I suddenly had a knife between my fingers and made the conscience decision to throw it at that man's throat. Everything else was a blur. I still feel the rush – I still remember it.”

As much as Gordon wanted to relate, he really couldn't. He learned a long time ago to blocked out incidents such as that, to move on and just not think about it. It was better that way. Gordon didn't know what words would be comforting and which would do more harm. The billionaire seemed lost in a turmoil that Gordon couldn't really relate to at this time. There was so much blame and regret there, and it was obvious in Wayne's eyes. Gordon parted his lips to speak, but Wayne shook his head.

“I don't want to hear anything. Nothing you say will make this go away. Nothing will make this better. Words are useless. Words can't...” Bruce paused and closed his eyes, hands to his ears as if struggling with something only he could see or here.“... Fix anything.” Gordon went to put a hand on Bruce shoulder, but the younger man dropped to his knees and began to sob. Gordon quickly went down on one knee, holding Wayne's shoulder's with both his hands.

“Are you alright, son?” Gordon asked. It was odd, really, to use that term with a grown man, but something in Gordon felt protective of Wayne, and even small endearments as that might help.

Wayne had his fingernails in his hair, trying not to pull on the brown locks as an agonizing grimace welled up in his face. “I'm conflicted, Jim. Broken and confused. I have nothing left.”

Gordon dropped his left knee to evenly meet the other. He pulled Wayne's hands from his head and placed them on his lap. Gordon then put his own hands on either side of Wayne's face, just as he had the other day when he was able to calm him. This time Gordon let his thumb caress Wayne's cheekbones, breathing in a soft, even rhythm. Wayne's own hysterical breathing slowed to match Gordon's as he gazed steadily into the commissioner's eyes.

“That's not true,” Gordon breathed, looking at Bruce over the rim of his glasses. And he said the first true thing he could think of, and he found that he meant every word of it even if he wasn't sure what it would create between them.“You have me.”


	4. Chapter 4

Bruce smoothed back his hair with his hands, watching from his seat as Jim Gordon slouched in another chair, sleeping. Bruce had told him hours ago he could go home, but Gordon insisted on staying until he knew Bruce was fine. That was laughable. Bruce knew he'd never be 'fine' again. He had nothing left to occupy himself and rousing the playboy facade now seemed ridiculous as well. Bruce didn't know himself, didn't know what to do with himself. He trained for seven years to be Batman and in a matter of seconds that whole life shattered in front of his eyes. So where did that leave him?

_No where, Bruce. You're stuck now, in an in between_. In between what though? This life he had now – cold, blank and useless – and what he could be doing? That was another question all together; what would he do now? Hang out with Gordon all day? Yeah, right. The older man had better things to do than spend his days tolling around Wayne Manor and Batcave with Bruce. Gordon could still do what Bruce no longer able to do.

Bruce narrowed his eyes on Gordon, scraping his bottom teeth against his upper lip. Gordon still got to do a piece of what Bruce loved to do, what Bruce cherished. _You don't really want to be his friend, do you Bruce? You'll never hear the end of his adventures, the next crime spree... All the stories. You'll just envy him and someday you won't be able to take it. Then what? Will you kill him, too?_ Bruce cringed at the invasion of bitter thoughts in his mind. He had working so hard to keep them under control. He had been able to ignore them thus far and not let them control his actions. As long as he could do that, then he knew he still had a chance to fight them off all together.

_Oh, come on, Bruce. You know it's true. You know in due time the commissioner will reach the same fate as those two men. It's in your blood to kill and you'll have to find another_ victim _soon_. Bruce rolled his chair away from Gordon, turning his head to look at the computer console instead. Maybe if he didn't look at the commissioner then he rage-filled thoughts would disappear. Last thing Bruce ever wanted was to kill another person – it ate at him to even think about. This side of Bruce, the angry repressed side that was supposed to be 'taken care of' when he was a child – after his parents' death – was slowly making a turn around and Bruce knew it was really only a matter of time before it showed it's ugly head.

Bruce had to gain his control back. He needed to find peace in himself, let go of the regrets from the other night and just know that he couldn't have done anything else but what he did. _Yes, Bruce. This is how we're going to push our demons down. This is how we keep ourselves in check. You're such a good boy, Bruce._ So why did it feel like he was being mocked? He had to at least try. Meditation and cleansing his mind would be just the thing he needed, wouldn't it? _If that's what you think will work_.

No, what would work would be to get out in the night air and feel the rush of wind in his face as he jumped from a rooftop and glided down to another. That always helped when situations hadn't quite gone as planned. When Rachel died. _Sure, when Rachel was killed, but what about when you thought Jim Gordon was dead? You reacted so violently to Sal Maroni. Maybe you feel differently to Gordon than you thought. Maybe you..._ Bruce shook his head quickly. If anything Gordon was like a father to him and the older man had even used terms with him to suggest he didn't think of Bruce as anything other than a son, either.

_You're so blind, Bruce. You've been able to control these dark raging thoughts since Gordon arrived. Now he's asleep and you can't seem to keep them from surfacing_. There must have been something about Gordon that eased his demons. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that Gordon was the one person that night that Bruce's parents died to show him a bit of kindness. Everyone else at the police station treated him like another case, another person overreacting to something that happened every day in Gotham City. But not Jim Gordon. He was different.

_See, Bruce, you do have a soft spot for the commissioner. He's distracting, however, keeping you from becoming what you need to be. You've seen this coming for a while now. It was only a matter of time until you snapped and broke that one rule. Now you can do your job more effectively_. But he couldn't be Batman, he'd promised and sworn that off. Bruce balled his hands into tight fists, feeling the automatic burn of rage filling his body. He had this urge, a sudden and unbeatable urge to beat something. Everything was taken from him in a few misshapen seconds of his life and he was starting to feel that this voice in his head, whether it was his or something intruding and alien-like, was going to be the end of him. He wanted to believe every word, that he was becoming something completely foreseeable. _You're just an animal, Bruce. You might have been able to tame_ us _for a while, but you knew the day would come when you couldn't hold us back anymore._

Taking a deep breath, Bruce pushed a button on the computer keyboard, watching as the armored cage he kept the Batsuit in appeared from the ground. The doors opened up and Bruce began to undress. He had to work out this burning rage in his veins, and maybe if he just let it out for a little bit he could be rid of it. Maybe he needed this.

_That's right, Bruce. Leave the poor commissioner here and go out into the night and do what you promised you wouldn't do any more. Let those thoughts and feeling consume you._

 _It's everything you're suppose to be_.

\-----

Gordon woke to someone shaking him. He attempted to swat away the hand that was on his shoulder, but the person just shook him a little harder. Gordon finally opened his eyes to see the gentle blue eyes of Alfred standing over him, looming in the dim lights of the Batcave. Alfred had a look of panic on his face, though he was obviously trying his best to hide it. Gordon blinked a few times, adjusted his glasses.

“Alfred?” Gordon asked, sitting up in the chair had fallen asleep in. He looked around, grasping the arms of the chair with his hands. Wayne was no where to be seen. “Where is he?”

Alfred cocked his head to the side, raising an eyebrow, and letting out a slow hiss between his gritted teeth. “I'm not quite sure, sir. He seems to have taken off.” Alfred gestured to the empty cage where the armor usually hung. It was empty. Gordon was on his feet quickly, looking over the cage, as if the suit might appear out of no where and his assumptions on where Wayne really was would be false. Gordon looked back to Alfred and the same realization was set on his face.

“Why would he do that after everything that happened the other night? He even sat here and swore to me he that he didn't feel he could be Batman anymore. What was he thinking?” Gordon was in too much shock and too much panic to think straight. He knew Wayne was having some mental issues, something about voices if Gordon could remember right, but he thought the kid was merely have some post-traumatic issues that would pass in time. But now it was obviously that Gordon wasn't the only one worried, Alfred looked about ready to crawl out of his skin in with nervousness.

“He's not really been himself since the other night. Can't seem to get him to sleep, either. Swears the nightmares are worse than the real thing. When he does sleep he mumbles about his parents.” Alfred sighed, dropping his hands to his sides. “I tried to convince him last night to allow me to call someone, a psychiatrist. I don't think I need to tell you his answer.” There was another pause, and Gordon knew that Alfred was feeling a tad regretful. “I'm worried. One minute he seems so stable and the next he's off in a daze. I... I do not know what he might do.”

Gordon knew now he should have known better than to let Wayne out of his sight for even a second. The younger man seemed to have had a grip of his emotions and feelings since Gordon arrived; how was he to know that the minute he fell asleep Wayne would take an emotional relapse? Exactly what happened, neither he nor Alfred could know for sure, but considering what Wayne had been through and talked about the last few days, it couldn't be good.

Gordon started for the elevator, Alfred close behind. “I'm going to go find him.”

“Are you sure that's wise, sir?” Alfred asked just a few paces behind him, pushing the call button to send the lift down.

“What am I suppose to do? Allow him to roam the streets in his condition? Do you know the chaos that is going to come of this?” Gordon had started to raise his voice, but Alfred didn't flinch; he seemed to be thinking the same thing. “I've seen one too many fall victim to the madness that Gotham places on people. I will _not_ see it happen to Bruce.” And just who exactly was he trying to justify this to, anyway? And when did he start having such a soft spot for the billionaire? _Oh, right. When he saved your daughter's life_. And countless other occasions before the truth about Wayne.

Gordon stepped on to the lift with Alfred right behind him. “What do you suppose will happen to him if you do find him?”

“ _When_ I find him,” Gordon corrected, he had faith that Wayne would be too far out of his mind to stay in the shadows and there was bound to be leads on where people had seen him. “And I don't know. Something has to be done. I don't want to see him in a place like Arkham, but if he's refusing our help, I don't know that we'll have a lot of choice.”

They arrived at the topped and Gordon and Alfred both stepped off and walked up the stairs into the Manor. Alfred walked Gordon to the door, grabbing the commissioner's jacket out of the closet as they passed. He handed it to the other man. Gordon could tell by Alfred's eyes that he was feeling more helpless than usual.

“Whatever you think is best, Commissioner,” Alfred said finally, his voice low and quiet. Gordon put a hand on the butler's shoulder and left down the steps to his car. He quickly turned on the station frequency, to see if he could pick up any unusual activity.

\-----

It felt as if it had been more than just a few days since Bruce had donned the Batsuit and gone out in the night air. It felt like weeks, months even. Everything since Saturday evening had moved so slowly that time seemed to have stopped completely. The wind blew gently against his face from the rooftop of the radio tower, helping him to remember what it felt like and what he had been needing. This was perhaps the release he was looking for, something to take his mind off the guilt, the disappointment, the rage...

But that wasn't true. He still felt it all burning in his chest. He couldn't figure how he went from feeling so guilty and confused to feeling so angry and vengeful. Maybe they went hand-in-hand, or maybe the it was a cover up for the hurt. Bruce didn't know and at that moment, he didn't care. His head – though clear for the moment – was starting to fog again with the distant sounds of the voice taunting him. He knew that there wasn't a lot of time and now that he had calmed his nerves, his hatred, and boiling blood, he would need to get back to the manor before a relapse started. Before this whole outing was for nothing.

_You don't want to play a little, Bruce? That is why you came out here and you know it. You can push these thoughts down for a time, but you know that they'll just keep coming right back the minute you think you're safe again_. Bruce took a deep, steady breath and tried to clear his mind. This is not what he wanted, not yet – not right now.

_Just patrol for a while, Bruce. What's it really going to hurt?_ Bruce couldn't really argue with that. Gotham did need him after all. _That's right, Gotham does need you. You can step up your efforts and finally give those criminals what they deserve_.

_Yes_ , Bruce thought with a small grin forming on his lips, _I can_.

\----

“It's been quiet, Jim. No unusual reports or Bat sightings,” Stephens said from the other end of the two-way radio. Gordon sighed, rubbing his eyes with his free hand. This was actually a lot harder than he has expected it to be. Or he was just wrong about Wayne's intentions. That didn't seem right though either.

“Thanks, Ger. If you do hear something let me know.” Gordon put the handset back and sat back in the driver's seat. If he were a slightly disturbed Bruce Wayne – who had just killed two men and was having issues accepting it as well as flashbacks from his childhood – where would he go?

Gordon thought about the cemetery, but that seemed... too obvious and not exactly the path Wayne would probably want to go. If the vigilante was really losing it, really unstable he was probably out there looking for something or someone. But that still left Gordon without a place to start. Batman had a way of getting around the city faster than anyone, and Gordon never really knew how he did it. Sure he had a car and motorcycle, but those were both left at the Batcave. So how _was_ Wayne getting around? That wasn't nearly as important as to where exactly Wayne was at this time. Gotham was a might big city and finding just one spot to search was like trying to find the needle in a haystack.

There was a static on the two-way and a dispatcher started to call out a nine-one-one emergency. Apparently a bank had been robbed some twenty blocks from where Gordon was parked, just down town. Batman had a way of finding these things out before him, so it was a good bet that he would find his way there sooner than Gordon would. Lucky break, if it were going to be true. Gordon mentally crossed his fingers as he started the engine of his car and sped off down the street towards Gotham Central Bank.

\-----

Bruce had heard the call probably seconds before the police scanner ever received the call from dispatch. He was bounding across the rooftops with a quick pace, barely feeling his feet touch the graveled surfaces before he took another leap, landing just on top of the bank roof. The easiest way into the bank at night was through the rooftop hatch, if the alarm wasn't set off. Which is was, and Bruce knew the robber would be out coming back up in just seconds when they realized they didn't have a lot of time until the police arrived.

What they wouldn't be expecting was Batman.

There was a click and the door leading down opened and a man appeared, tearing his black mask off and Bruce found that he was frozen to the spot at the face he saw. Harvey Dent. But that was completely and entirely impossible. He saw Dent die, saw the funeral, saw the lifeless body be buried in the ground. Dent was dead. Were Bruce's eyes deceiving him? He took a step forward and the man jolted, pulling a gun on Batman. Bruce kicked the gun out of his hand and shot a hand around the robber's throat. Bruce narrowed his eyes on him, sizing him up. Even though he didn't want to believe it was Dent, every feature was the same, right down to th scaring on the right half of his face.

Then there was a rage, a burning sensation in Bruce's lungs, as if he had been holding his breath. Bruce let out a savage growl and threw the man to the ground. He then stalked over to the man, who looked completely baffled at his current situation, and little scared. Bruce picked the man up by his shirt with one fist while he beat his other into the blonde's face. Dent never kept his promises to bring Gotham back to the way it once was. Dent never upheld his end of the bargain. Dent fell from grace just like everyone else. Dent left Bruce to clean up the mess and take the fall for his misgivings.

And where did all that leave Bruce? In the same fucking situation that Dent had been in. Bruce was a killer now, too, and it was all Harvey Dent's fault.

Bruce continued to smash his fist into Dent's face, yelling obscurities to the man, cursing his name even though the other man kept mumbling that he wasn't Dent, that he had the wrong person, but Bruce wasn't hearing it. All he could hear was the sound of his Kevlar gloves thwacking against skin, the cracking of bones in the face under his fist, and the voice in his head encouraging him to keep going.

_Keep going because you want it. Keep going because Dent_ deserves _this. Keep going... because he stole Rachel from you. She was never going to be with you, Bruce and you know it. Just kill him,_ again _. Let that rage consume you..._ And it would, and he felt it coursing through is veins in a boiling fury he couldn't control any longer. He kneed the man in the stomach and watched as he fell backwards, almost completely lifeless. All it would take was one more swift kick to throat, to crush his airway, and Dent would be out of Bruce life for good. Bruce stared down at the man, emotionless, heel of his boot at the ready when the door to the roof opened and shut behind him.

“What are you...” But the question wasn't finished, and Gordon stepped up to Bruce's side, gun drawn. He lowered his hands as he approached Bruce cautiously.

“I have to do it, Gordon. I have to kill Dent once and for all. It's the only way...” Bruce said, and as he heard the words pour from his own mouth, he could hear just how unrealistic and insane they really were. Bruce looked back down at the man on the ground and saw it was just some twenty-something year old kid, now beaten to a messy pulp; bloody and bruised.

“Dent?” Gordon asked as he looked over at the kid sprawled out on the ground. “Bruce, that isn't Dent. Dent has been dead for three years. _You_ know that.” Gordon spoke carefully, obviously trying to let every word he said sink into the younger man's brain. Bruce turned to looked at him, his head suddenly fuzzy and faint, and the voice in his head was cowardly moving towards the back of his mind. Gordon holstered his gun and took out his two-way radio and called for an ambulance.

Bruce took a deep breath, finding he couldn't breath or feel his lungs and the cowl wasn't making it any better. He reached up and slowly pulled the thing off and tossed it to the ground. Gordon was watching him, keeping a safe distance and why wouldn't he? Bruce knew he was losing it for sure this time, everything was blurring together and everything he knew was true was quickly turning false. He did need help.

Gordon bent and picked up the cowl. “We have to get you out of here before the rest of the force shows up. This isn't going to look good.” Gordon looked over the edge of the building, hearing the sirens approaching. He held his free hand out to Bruce. Bruce looked at it for a brief moment and wondered if he should go with Gordon or face his demons head on and take what was coming to him. Jail would welcomed.

_Oh, yes it would, Bruce. Joker is in Blackgate and you know you wouldn't mind finishing him off. Take down the criminal you fought with for so long in a place that no one would care if you killed him. Perfect._

That wasn't how this was going to go though. Bruce was going to push back those thoughts and take the commissioner's offered hand and get the hell out. He reached his gloved hand to Gordon's and the older man pulled him down the steps and out the back door of the bank, just in time to hear the sirens pull up.

\-----

Gordon watched as Wayne pulled his gloves off, the sound of sweating skin coming unglued from the leather caught tightly in the air as neither of them said a word. Wayne rubbed at his eyes with his own bare fists, and made a noise that was almost a whimper. Gordon wasn't sure if any words he had would be enough this time. Being this man's friend was hard enough, being something else or more would be harder, especially as Wayne walked a thin line between sanity and chaos.

Gordon pulled the car into the the long drive way of Wayne Manor, catching Wayne grimace all-too-visibly. “I think we both know that you need more help than Alfred and I can offer you,” Gordon said softly, turning the engine off and facing Wayne, who wasn't looking anywhere but at his feet. “My kids had a pretty good psychiatrist after... well, you know. I could give her a call. Or if you prefer something a little more controlled, I can call Arkham.”

At that, Wayne's eyes shot up to Gordon's, wrath and fury almost bleeding from them. “You know I can't go to Arkham.”

“Yeah, I do. I'm just giving you some suggestions. I'm not going to let you roam around town in your state. You can't go around beating up criminals because you think they're someone else. What's next? You think some mugger is the Joker? You aren't stable.” Gordon brushed a hand over his mustache, hoping he was making it through to Wayne.

“I know,” Wayne whispered. His glare dropped to a pleading gaze that caught somewhere in Gordon's heart, leaving his chest feeling fluttery. Wayne leaned towards Gordon and whispered. “It's so tame when you're around. I can control it then.”

Exactly what was 'it', Gordon wondered. The voices Wayne mentioned earlier? Probably. It was awful that one little incident had set the billionaire off on a such a crazed road. But given Wayne's past and what Gordon learned from Alfred, it was almost expected. Who would have thought that Wayne would kill two men in an attempt to save another's life? Gordon felt his heart start to beat a little faster and his emotions, however vague and weird they seemed, took over his actions.

He leaned in towards Wayne, cupping the side of his face with his hand gently, fingers stroking messily at Wayne's chestnut locks, and kissed him. Gordon hadn't meant for it to happen, especially not in the state that Wayne was in. There was something in knowing and hearing that he was the one calming whatever it was seizing hold of Wayne's mind that only made him want to do it more. Wayne's hand grabbed Gordon's jacket and pulled him a little closer, or as close as the car seats would allow, and Gordon continued to kiss at Wayne's slightly parted, dry lips. If this is what the billionaire needed, if this would help the process, Gordon would do it.

He owed his life, his children's life... everything to Bruce Wayne. And yet, it wasn't just about that; it was about what Gordon need in his own life as well. He needed this, too.


End file.
